


a little deviant, a little dirty

by IncognitoDuck11



Category: Pretty Little Liars
Genre: Cold Showers, F/F, Foot Fetish, High Heels, Humiliation, I'm Going to Hell, Light Dom/sub, Shameless Smut, Smut, Spanking, Suit Kink, Trampling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-12 19:40:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28765722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IncognitoDuck11/pseuds/IncognitoDuck11
Summary: The toe of Aria’s shoe rests just under Spencer's chin, and Spencer gulps, pinned down, wondering if this is what it feels like to be looked at under a microscope.
Relationships: Spencer Hastings/Aria Montgomery
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	a little deviant, a little dirty

**Author's Note:**

> Nobody asked for this but I wrote it lmao. Also hi, John! Prepare to die.

-.-.-.-

Spencer realizes that this is unorthodox, that it’s downright deviant maybe, but she can’t bring herself to care. Not when every single thing in her life is so… _pristine_. So planned and perfect and impeccably neat that she can't stand it half the time. 

Usually, order is her comfort zone. She keeps the bills in her wallet alphabetized by serial number and organizes her closet by color and probably drives her girlfriend absolutely fucking crazy every time she sweeps in to check how she's folding the laundry, but there's another part of her that craves chaos, craves something she doesn't fully understand. Or maybe she just craves the calm in the center of a hurricane, that intense focus that crops up even if everything is so _wrong_ , and she's found her slow drip of it in Aria. 

Aria often stands at her easel armed with a paintbrush and a dark imagination that Spencer only gets glimpses of from time to time, and she somehow always achieves that calm in the storm. Spencer is always swirling with a painful mix of motivation and anxiety, doggedly chasing after whatever it is she’s trying to achieve, so she doesn't understand how Aria’s brand of all-consuming obsession can look so elegant compared to her own. She doesn't understand it, and she always picks at what she doesn't understand until it bleeds, until Aria gives up and decides to show her. 

Aria makes a mess out of her, smears her with her own spit and tears and mascara. Aria wrenches away her sense of control, beats her down until she can't see anything but hazel eyes and gentle, loving belligerence. Aria makes her scramble to catch a handhold, but then delights in making it impossible to do so, until Spencer’s slamming into the dirt and lying still, defeated. Power over the powerful… that’s what Aria craves. And all Spencer wants is for Aria to step on her, punish her, pull her hair and make her beg. 

Like now, for instance, as she's clad in a neatly tailored suit and Aria’s got her by the necktie as it hangs loose around her throat, tugging, her eyes darkening as Spencer cants her head back and strains against what's inevitable. Aria’s all smoky eyes and crimson lipstick and black attire—lacy bustier and garter belt and break-neck stilettos—and Spencer wants her in all the wrong ways. She wants Aria to destroy her, ruin her, mark her; Aria’s lips are on her neck, sucking hard enough to bruise. Aria has her shoved against the door of the master bathroom, pinned there to squirm, and Spencer slams her head back, trying fruitlessly for the pain that jolts her into that coveted sense of calm. 

“Fuck, Aria,” she whines, and Aria presses a firm hand over her mouth. It smells like vanilla moisturizer, and she shivers as Aria leans into her ear. 

“ _I bet I know what you want_.” 

And then Aria’s pulling away so suddenly that Spencer almost slides down the door. She leans against it for a moment, not trusting her legs to hold her upright, until Aria curls her finger in a come hither motion, beckoning her like a siren in dark waters. 

“Come here, babe.” 

Spencer shifts her weight onto her feet and takes a tentative step forward, a tremble in her limbs, and Aria catches her by the lapels of her jacket, shoves it off her shoulders. It falls to the floor and Spencer automatically moves to undo her cufflinks, as if she's in a trance and Aria’s keeping her there. Maybe she is, because she feels Aria’s gaze like a physical presence, pressing into her as she scrutinizes her every move. She watches Aria watch her, noticing how her chest starts to heave and her bottom lip catches between her teeth. Her lashes flutter as Spencer tosses her cufflinks onto the countertop, nickel clinking against marble, and she steps on Spencer's shoe, a silent command to get rid of them, too. 

Spencer obeys, stepping out of her shoes and socks, and Aria pulls her forward by the tie again, leading her like a dog on a leash. She pauses and starts to pace a slow circle around Spencer, heels clicking menacingly against tile as Spencer stands in wait, and it quickly becomes a struggle to stay still. Spencer swallows thickly, and it's sudden but not quite unexpected as Aria presses down on her shoulder, guiding her to her knees. From there, she rests a foot on Spencer's shoulder, pushing her even further to the ground, and Spencer catches herself on her hands, grimacing as Aria keeps stepping on her, forcing her face down to rest against the cool tiles. Even though she knows they just mopped, it feels dirty with her head right by the toilet. She tries to focus not on that but on Aria’s shoes as they come to rest in front of her, sexy and tantalizing. 

“Lick,” Aria commands, nudging her chin with her foot.

Obligingly, Spencer presses a delicate kiss to the top of Aria’s foot, then gets to work, laving her tongue over the toe of her girlfriend’s shoe, grimacing at the leathery taste of it, at the awful, delightful way it makes her feel like nothing to stoop this low.

She licks until the material is wet and glistening with saliva, and then obligingly licks along the bottom as Aria cants her foot back on its heel, exposing the sole. It tastes rubbery, and she wrinkles her nose. Aria simpers. “Does that taste good, princess?” 

Spencer nods, reluctant to lie even as she knows that Aria is expecting it. “Yes.” A shiver rolls down her spine, something between disgust and arousal at being called princess. It's degrading, humiliating, but she's always content with being Aria’s princess, her baby, her dirty little slut, even. It shouldn't, but it takes a weight off her shoulders that she can't remove otherwise. It removes her from responsibilities that she's terribly exhausted of, makes her feel okay just being filthy and imperfect and human for once. 

She starts kissing her way up Aria’s delicate ankles, her calves, toned as they are from her self-defense classes and all the times Spencer's dragged her out for an early morning jog. She seems so tall from this angle— _little but big_ —and it makes Spencer feel so tiny in comparison. Tiny and worthless and unimportant, compared to Aria. 

Spencer tries to communicate it all in wet kisses and playful nuzzles, tries to let Aria know that she's happy like this, worshiping the very ground she walks on. And then Aria shakes her off, and it breaks her heart in the best of ways. 

“On your back,” orders Aria, and Spencer rolls over, settling supine on the floor. The toe of Aria’s shoe rests just under Spencer's chin, and Spencer gulps, pinned down, wondering if this is what it feels like to be looked at under a microscope.

Aria smiles down at her like the cat that ate the canary. “Breathe, Spence.” 

It could almost be a taunt, the way Aria applies the slightest pressure to her throat just after she says it, but Spencer knows she means it. She gasps a little as the sharp heel of Aria’s stiletto presses into the divot between her collarbones, and she looks up into Aria’s eyes and gets trapped. The shoe on her throat is dragged back down to where it catches slightly on her shirt collar and then rakes across the silk of Spencer’s necktie. Her foot presses down against the middle of Spencer's chest, right between her breasts, its sharp heel jabbing her in the ribs, and it gets harder to breathe. 

“Aria,” she whimpers, listening to the plastic tick of her shirt’s buttons as they hit Aria’s shoe, one by one. “ _Aria_ …” 

It's all she can think to say, as Aria drags her foot lower and lower until she's stepping at the flat space just below Spencer's navel, the rod of her heel hitting her through her slacks just where she needs it. Her hands reflexively reach up to grab Aria’s ankle, hold her there as her back arches and she tips her head back, her eyes fluttering shut as the pressure between her legs sends a pleasant jolt up her spine. 

“You're so needy, aren't you, baby?” Aria coos, before shaking her off once more, pulling away. 

A disappointed whine shudders out of Spencer's throat, and she draws her eyes back open, flinching at the staccato click of Aria’s heel as it hits the floor. She's not sure if she's relieved or disappointed as Aria begins to circle her like predator over prey, searching for the right places to step on, and she trembles, wanting so badly to curl up into a ball and hide.

“Unbutton your shirt.”

So much for shielding herself. Spencer's fingers are clumsy as they reach up to undo the buttons, fumbling so dramatically with the top one that Aria huffs out an annoyed sigh. 

“Rip it open.” 

Spencer stares at her. This is one of her good shirts. “What?” 

“ _Rip it open_.” 

And this time she gets it, starts pulling until all the tiny plastic buttons pop off, clatter to the floor, and she's exposed. 

“God, you're gorgeous,” Aria comments, so sincerely that it makes Spencer flush. She feels her neck and ears get warm, even more so as Aria kicks her shirt further open, exposing her chest—she's not wearing a bra—and drags the bottom of her shoe over one of her nipples. A pleasant spark shoots down her spine and she squeezes her eyes shut, feeling embarrassed and surrounded and lightheaded.

“Look at me.” 

Reluctantly, Spencer opens her eyes, catching Aria’s gaze, and Aria’s eyes are half-lidded and dark as she stares down at her. Spencer feels like she's under a spotlight, pinned down like an insect in a collection, desperate and keening, and all at once, it's like the edges of everything else get blurry, fall away, and all there is is _Aria_ . Aria looks at her like something she wants to consume, likes something she wants to kill— _crush_ —and Spencer feels faint. Faint and just as hungry.

“Good girl,” praises Aria, stepping on her face, forcing her head to tilt to the side so she can press it into the tile, and Spencer lets out a low groan at the strain in her neck.

“Aria, please,” she mumbles, and it's hard to talk with a shoe on her face. It makes her heart thud faster in her chest, but she swallows the dizziness that's washing over her like a wave and pleads like she's dirt. “ _Please._ ” 

“Needy, needy, needy,” Aria tuts, presses harder. “What do you want, sweetheart? Tell me.” 

The words always feel clumsy and awkward on her tongue, like she shouldn't be so straightforward, but Aria knows how it makes her uncomfortable. Aria asks because it makes her uncomfortable, to break her of her pesky habit of keeping things decorous, even in the bedroom. Spencer is nothing if not tasteful, but Aria loves it when she snaps, acts the opposite of the well-mannered lady she was raised to be. Aria likes teasing it out of her, and it's _crude_ , but Spencer closes her eyes, admits in a hoarse rasp, “I want you to fuck me.” 

“What was that?” Aria teases, removing her foot from Spencer's face. “Look at me, Spencer. What do you want me to do?” 

Spencer feels downright shy as she meets Aria’s gaze once more. It's a struggle to maintain eye contact as she all but whimpers the words: “Fuck me.” 

Aria's eyes blacken, and she kicks off her heels, presses a stocking-clad foot over Spencer's mouth. Spencer moans, muffled and distressed and entirely too turned on by all of this. 

“Dirty slut,” her girlfriend hisses, pushing harder against Spencer's face, shoving her cheek against the floor once more. “Dirty little slut wants me to fuck her.” 

Spencer blinks tears from her eyes, feeling oddly deserving of the nasty words Aria’s saying. She knows it's not real, knows they're only playing, but she likes being called out like this. Likes the awfulness of it. Likes the taste of shame on her tongue. It makes her feel like the scum of the earth, but with Aria grinding her into the floor, she gets a sense of repentance. She feels lighter, each second this punishment goes on. 

And then Aria steps back, rests her foot on Spencer’s chest and slowly shifts her weight onto it, and she feels like she's being crushed again. When Spencer throws her head back, groaning instead of safe-wording, Aria lifts her other foot off the ground and stands fully on her chest. She can't breathe and she can't think and it _hurts_ , but the sensation building in her stomach is wholly pleasant, and she loves this. 

“F-fuck,” she wheezes out. “God… Aria.” 

Aria steps down, leaving Spencer gasping for breath all the while, and crosses her arms over her chest. “You want to come, sweetheart?” she says, all too sweetly, and Spencer only blinks up at her, dazed and breathless and spinning out of control. 

“ _Spencer_ ,” Aria says, her foot thudding against Spencer’s side so hard that Spencer gasps. “I asked you a question.” 

“Yes,” Spencer finally manages to choke out. “I want to… to come.” Her face gets hot when she says it, and Aria giggles. 

“I love it when you use your words, baby,” she says, but then her expression collapses back into something malicious and dark, and Spencer wants to sink into the floor. “But I think I know what you really need. Get the fuck up.” 

Her harsh tone is enough that Spencer scrambles to her feet. Immediately, Aria sets to unbuckling her belt, slipping it free of its loops and then pushing Spencer’s pants and underwear down her legs, kneeling. Cool air hits the damp, neatly trimmed curls of hair between her legs, and Aria clucks her tongue, runs a rough finger through her. Spencer’s knees nearly give out, and she lets out a strangled, wanton moan.

“You're so wet, baby.” 

Spencer steps free of the fabric, and Aria bunches up the soaked panties in her fist, stands back up before unceremoniously stuffing them into Spencer’s mouth.

And then she's leading Spencer over to the walk-in shower by the necktie still hanging around her throat, and gesturing for her to step inside. 

“Hands on the wall,” she orders, and Spencer does as asked, standing under the showerhead and pressing her palms into the wall in front of her. “I think you need a cold shower.” 

Spencer's heart skips a beat, and then Aria’s turning the shower on, letting freezing cold water rain down on Spencer's head. The intense cold steals her breath, makes her muscles go taut, and immediately she starts to shiver. She can feel Aria’s eyes on her as her shirt gets soaked through, and she's suddenly glad they invested in a no-slip mat because her legs are officially wobbling. The sensations—the taste of fabric and her own arousal in her mouth, the heavy water pounding onto her head, the cold rivulets rushing down her body, her shirt clinging to her skin—meld together to overwhelm her. She drags her safewords and nonverbal signals to the forefront of her mind, tries to keep them there just in case, and then she remembers the belt, and what they usually use that for. 

_Oh, god._

Aria runs a hand along her spine, down over her ass, and Spencer arches against her touch, letting out a muffled groan. Water runs into her eyes and she shakes her head, blinks it away, bites down harder on the fabric in her mouth, which is only getting wetter with each passing second. “Snap or stomp your feet if you need to stop,” Aria leans in to remind her, and Spencer nods, squeezes her eyes shut. 

Aria steps back, and Spencer hears the clink of the belt buckle, sees her fold the strip of leather back on itself in the corner of her eye. She braces herself. 

_Smack!_

The belt snaps against her ass, loud and wet and stinging, and Spencer arches up on her toes, trying not to cry out. Her heart pounds in her ears, and the pain seems amplified as it spreads across her backside. 

_Smack!_

Spencer feels tears slip out of her eyes, get lost in the water cascading over her head, and she cries out, the onslaught of sensation starting to centralize low in her belly. Her legs start to shake. 

Suddenly, Aria reaches around and pulls the panties out of her mouth, tosses them towards the rest of her clothes, and then steps back to land another blow, this time on her thighs. “Come on, sweetheart. I want to hear you beg for it,” she says nastily, and it's too much. _Too much_.

Spencer wails, her abdomen tightening. “Please! _Aria_ –” 

_Smack!_

One more blow and she's there, sparks bursting in her vision as she orgasms. It shudders through her, violent and demanding, knocking her off balance, and it's all she can do to stay upright. “F-fuck! Oh, fuck! Aria!” 

And then Aria’s there, turning off the water, pushing her up against the cold tiled wall and kissing her hard. It leaves her weak and shaking, and then Aria’s kneeling to lap up the accumulated wetness dripping from between her legs. She's painfully sensitive, gasping as Aria’s tongue slowly glides through her, and she can't seem to catch her breath no matter how hard she tries. Finally— _finally_ —Aria pulls away, pecking a delicate kiss on the inside of her thigh before standing back up, pulling her into a warm embrace.

“You okay, babe?” Aria murmurs into her ear, rubbing her back to soothe her trembling somewhat. 

Spencer nods. “Yeah.” 

Honestly, she’s much more than fine.

-.-.-.-


End file.
